


said

by inuredaydream



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Falling Out of Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, References to Depression, Tommy has a Sex Addiction its Not Good, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, and Wilburs an Alcoholic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inuredaydream/pseuds/inuredaydream
Summary: he knew once he grabbed that phone, he had fallen right back into the cycle.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	said

**Author's Note:**

> i was feelin really crummy suddenly so i decided to write this at like 11pm so like sorry if theres any mistakes. also wheres that falling out of love trope with tombur we need more of it.

there was always a certain fascination that tommy had with wilbur.

it was mysterious. it was a sudden ignite of a flame, suddenly brought about the both of them whenever wilbur had drunkenly submitted to his inner desires on a voicecall under the influence of false ideas. he knew that wilbur wouldn’t have wanted tommy to know about how he actually felt if it had killed him, his yawning and his webcam showing his face pressed into the palm of his cheek. the tangy, bitter splash of red depression swirled around in a cup. wilbur was developing a needly addiction, and his hands would wrap around any cheap bottle that pleased his senses and would drown him away to the numb feeling that would throw him back into the same loop of self-hatred all over again.

despite the pressure, and the what of the words that wilbur had spoken to tommy that night. it was steamy, hot, and passionate. while also being secluded and quiet. he found that their love was a lot like cloth. it was soft and tender, and easy to ignite. so quick to send them both into an inferno. of course, their desires were just as red and hot as the flame had been itself. the burn, and the black singe that would come off of it if you had stood too close. the only way to survive its wrath is by embracing it. and that’s what wilbur did, tommy had later discovered in one of his late-night talks with himself, staring up at his popcorn ceiling, barely illuminated by a small nightlight on the other side of the room. 

despite it being winter, he lets the fan stay on and blow even colder air around his room. the reason why he’s above his bedsheets in sweatpants, socks, and a tshirt. his phone the only thing illuminating his exhausted, worn face. the dim light of his phone, displaying a discord message tab. the emptiness that wrecked his being. a teen star with everything in the world, providing all he could ever. and yet, staring at the faint shadows of the popcorn ceiling and making him feel dormant and light. he was almost tempted to hunch his body over and go dig in the bottom drawer of his nightstand to pull out a small flask that he had snuck in past his parents. it was nothing much, a rectangular, slim bottle full of a sugary-cane rum substance. it made his throat burn and his body feel crummy. 

but maybe its what he craved. his lips getting dry as the fan dried out the carmex chapstick he had put on before he played down. he bit his lips and licked around them as in an attempt to find some type of gratification. but the salt of his saliva would just absorb and make the issue, worse. he would keep biting his cheeks and biting some of the skin in his inner cheeks off. layer by layer, his teeth would unravel a sorrowful reality. his braces were now off but he still had an urge to bite. he could only think occasionally when he wasnt so fucking numb.

his eyes squinted in the lowest setting of lighting for his phone, and eyed the red bubble that indicated a message from wilbur, but he didn’t want to read it. not right now. 

his body craved something to drink. his eyes heavy and baggy, as his body lay pathetically across the soft mattress fabric of his bedding, thrown around with little care. he had a pillow under his head, and was so tempted to slip back into the safety of unreality, where he can be the starboy of heights. peering over a tower and then flying down with the momentum and the excitement of the sky. he bit his lips again as the cool march night made his spine finally relax into the bedsheets. he just had to tell himself to keep relaxing, keep breathing.

tommy did this exact routine a lot: he would go to bed, but never actually sleep. it was never insomnia. sleeping came easy when he was finally ready for it to occur. but for some reason, he had to console the other people that didnt exist inside of his head. confessing all the things he wish he could say to friends, family, loved ones and others. the four, cream-painted walls absorbing all his words and left to be forgotten with time as tommy would sleep off and forget these momentarily small self-therapy sessions, cuddling his pillow and his phone on the charger next to his bed. because he had already been there for so long that he had drained the battery from full to 47%. so now that he no longer had discord to look at, he only had his mind to entertain him with his thoughts.

the words came easy, he found, they slipped out like smoke after taking a shotgun with someone. (even if that scenario was influenced by what wilbur had done to him whenever they had met up) making a mess and tainting the air with its pungent scent and truth as it made his eyes flutter slightly and his nerves start to numb themselves as he would tickle and prod at the chest of the older man that embraced the emotion and feel of the smaller.

wilbur was something else entirely. because despite what he had liked to do with the child, teenager, whatever title he had deemed good for that day. it was whatever they liked, his entire identity was all up to whatever wilbur deemed him that day. and tommy would oblige, in voicecalls. his mind became tired, and he would jerk off to empty thoughts, wilburs voice radiating through his side of the mic. for some temporary moment, the small boy would feel some resemblance of peace of mind, but then after the exhilarating high, the rub and then the climax and the crash. he was back to ground zero, and with the liquid disappointment that dripped on the tips of his fingers as wilburs breaths would echo through his headphones. his eyes would blink, hurting just a slight bit as they averted to the missing classwork that awaited him in another tab on his computer.

that day was the first day that tommy set his led lights to red, the darkest color that would illuminate his room. and since that night, he hadn’t bothered to change it. not since that initial night whenever wilbur just muttered a goodbye to tommy in a low, exhausted voice before dropping out the call. leaving tommys profile alone and settled on the screen.

after climaxes, tommy cried. the crash of emotions was always too much to him. it wasnt the desperate wails, screaming and the desperation for someone to hug him, but tommy was instead left with the disturbingly empty ache in his heart. it was that same ache that twisted him to his core before wilbur had spilled his words all over the discord page like a madman. before the day where tommy was forced to dee the deepest parts of wilbur. before it all, when he could look at the elder and see an older brother. see a friend, see someone he could care about. 

soft tears would run down his red cheeks and his gentle face. he would wipe them away with the same tissue he had wiped his cum away with. not that it even fucking mattered, he let out a deep sigh, as he went over to tubbos dms (he always gravitated to tubbo when he was vulnerable) and starts going on another one of his late-night tangents. word vomiting about how he “doesnt know whats wrong” “i feel empty” “i feel sad”. the same cycle that tubbo has scolded on because how can he fucking help him if tommy cant even tell tubbo what the source for all these emotions rise from and what scenario they come from.

tommy is back in his bed again, his unfinished dinner from the night before, and today sitting cold on his desk. he never had the appetite. all he wanted to do was sleep and jerk off. because they were momentary reliefs of his daily pain cycle of some peace of mind. by giving him some gratification. giving him an escape, giving him a real place to go where everything inside of his head is alright. everyday his tounge becomes even more slippery, and hes so tempted to blurt out something about wilbur.

he knew it was wrong, which is what tugged at them. he knew he could see it in wilburs eyes whenever he wasnt absolutely blasted. he would ignore tommy, or tend to baby him down back to being a little brother. even in the private times (the only times they even could get away with being so sensual with eachother.) whenever tommy would attempt to initiate a flirtatious session of lust and eroticism. wilbur would always twist the subject. and he was never able to quite break the wall. which left the bags under his eyes grow more.

he feels like his blinking through eggshells whenever he closes his eyes, the rumble in his stomach, complaining about the lack of food in his system. but its what he wants, and its what he desires above all! he loves this emptiness, he tells himself. and the phone buzzes on his nightstand. he doesnt bother to even try. if he wants wilbur, the drug that he is to tommy, then how come he just cant attempt to pull himself up to make the effort to wilbur, how come he cant move his arms and just fucking reach over and try to make an attempt. euphoria is right there, wilbur is the drug thatll help him feel better, the void with subdue for an hour as he rocks his hips into his mattress.

tommy has a feeling that wilbur has the same case. addicted to the sensual words and desires under influence of weed, or a bitter drink, or some other thing that wilbur could get his hands on. and start to mutter sweet and erotic words into tommys airpods as a small hand would tempt underneath his sweatpants and under the boxers, and tempt his dick to come alive as his hand would graize over the fabric.

he knew once he grabbed that phone, he had fallen right back into the cycle. his mind tells him he shouldnt touch that phone. to turn the other way and sleep. he does, he curls onto his side and grabs one of the thinner blankets and wrapped it around his figure. his body immediately melted into the comfort of the bed. his jaw relaxed, and his muscles completely relaxe duntil they were putty. his mind became more fluid and influencable by his thoughts.

he hears another buzz, he wont fucking touch it. but he already has a pillow instinctively between his thighs. softly rocking into the fabric. not even aware that hes stimulating himself anymore. it was just a habit that would never kill itself. he would rock his hips into one of the old armrest pillows that he had hoarded from years ago. he just let his eyes flutter shut as, just maybe he would let himself relax and achieve euphoria by finally resting in his bed and just forgetting the whole world exists. maybe, with enough effort and tries, he could forget all about the buzzing and the ringing and the calling and the bothering, and he could close his eyes and let his joints loosen up to relax and, just perhaps, he wouldnt have to wake up.

as soon as tommy hears another buzz. his arm swings over, without his body moving, and grabs the phone, roughly pulls out the charger before muttering out his breath. 

_ “i fucking hate you.” _

not even 30 seconds and the call comes, tommy has very dim and poor lighting, he doesnt pay attention to what wilbur says really, giving half-assed responses as the addiction fueled in himself again. his dick already knew the drill by now. he drew his hand down low and teased his v-line before brushing against his dick and making himself arch a little bit at the friction between his hand and his raw dick.

he rolled onto his back to make this easier, shuffling the boxers and the sweats down just enough to reveal his dick, he focused strictly on the task at hand. wilburs words being heard but not registered. its not like tommy cared anyway, he could see the bottle of wine that was in wilburs other hand as he pumped his lubed dick on the camera. after a soft protest from tommy that he could not moan loudly today without causing alert in his household. wilbur seemed disappointed. and he tried,, oh did tommy try and push away that void that buried itself in his chest and left a fit of despair.

and thats how that night was wasted away. false intimate touches and needy words that could never satisfy the beast that tommy has residing from within, he realizes that he doesnt care that much anymore, and whenever wilbur huffed and was about to mutter out his goodbyes, tommy spilled out his two cents.

“i hate you.”

the silence was bitter and unforgiving. but for some reason, tommy wasnt thrown off whenever wilbur, not even followed with a laugh, a chuckle, or a giggle, muttered out in a tired, honest voice.

“i hate me too”

**Author's Note:**

> send any questions here if you want  
> https://curiouscat.qa/inuredaydreams


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